It was September 11th 2001, New York City. I was waiting for a client, Lyn Buchanan, a retired U. S. Army intelligence officer and remote reviewer- a psychic for the Army. He was to deliver his manuscript titled: The Seventh Sense: The Secrets of Remote Viewing as told by a “Psychic Spy” for the U.S. Military.
Earlier that morning I was walking down Broadway to my office at the corner of 52nd Street. It was a beautiful fall day, blue sky, light breeze, seemingly perfect. The planes had already hit the Twin Towers. There wasn’t panic in the streets but fear in every eye. Unlike an ordinary day walking to work, strangers hurrying past strangers, we were paying intense, almost desperate attention to every face, as if scanning faces to find the answer to “what and why?” We, New Yorkers all, were mutely searching each other’s eyes wondering what had happened to our City.
When I got to the office, the phone was ringing. It was my brother from Virginia, “Do you need me to drive up there and get you, Sandra?” Thomas had lived and worked in the Middle East and was very aware of volatile situations. I knew that he could handle anything that came up, but I told him I thought everything that could be done was being done. Plus we’d heard that they had closed all the subways and bridges into and out of Manhattan.
So I sat at my desk praying and wondered what was going to happen next.
Lyn and George, an officer of Lyn’s new company had arrived in Manhattan the night before and were staying downtown, near where they towers had fallen. We finally connected and both wondered what to do-should we move on with the meeting or should we just lay low since no one knew what might happen next. We decided that they should drive to mid-town and we’d have our meeting. Carry on.
Lyn was stocky and powerfully built, strong-not someone to be messed with. He also had a powerful intellect, a member of Mensa and he was an excellent writer.
We had lunch in an empty restaurant and talked about the event, the tragedy, and the future. American had never been attacked like this, not on home soil.
After so many questions and no answers, we decided to drive downtown to the Bowery and see his mentor, Ingo Swann. Lyn and George were worried that we’d be unable to drive downtown because of the road blocks. I suggested we head towards the East River, circle around the island and exit before the Bowery. We did that and had no problems.
We parked in front of Ingo’s building. He was sitting on his steps handing out water bottles or trying to when he could actually get the attention of any of the business suited men and women- strangers all.
These men and women of every age were walking, marching like zombies, eyes staring straight ahead, in total shock. They did not respond to entreaties or help. No one took the water offered. They were escaping, getting out of the Twin Towers area however they could. They were on their way out of the city, trying to get to bridges or to their own apartments in Manhattan. We saw from the Eastside Highway that many victims were crossing the Brooklyn bridges. They were leaving the scene of destruction however they could. They filled the street, their faces and clothes colored white with cement dust. The blank expressions were indelibly imprinted on my mind. It was a sight I will never forget nor will anyone who was there that day-9/11/2001.
In Ingo’s basement we listened to the news on the radio. Most of the television networks had their towers on top of the Twin Towers. The Office of Emergency Management wasn’t coordinating or issuing commands for emergency response because their command office was on the twenty third floor of the World Trade Center.
We depended on local news services, as did the entire population of the United States.
We settled around Ingo’s big conference table and the conversation started with one question: Who will benefit from this destruction? And went on from there. It was a long day. A day drilled into my brain and one that always causes tears to come to my eyes. We all lost friends that day.